Slipping on another face,
The former falls in shreds,
The categories of youth,
Tug - firmly at my sharp gaze.

Is a man within his hair?
Within his strength and stride?
Is he found in his eyes?
Or - met in his deepest care?

Though I change to a new face,
My mind is held the same,
So samely holds my look,
Subverting change I see:
The same man quickened in the glass.

The month has tumbled over,
Now anew to mark the calendar's face,
Like aged wrinkles from a tale of time,
That draws you into wandering thoughts,
That beckons you to think upon the lines.

Sharpened gaze,
On Month's meadow anew,
Seconds seem to snap into view,
Slowing down before my haze struck mind,

You fiendish beast,
How dare you trample ordered minds,
And crash on ancient shores unsaid,
Why, come follow me on winding hills,

You cannot grasp these heels of mine,
My 'prints not simply yours to tread,
You wish to bend my ordered lines,
But dreams of other kinds burn deep within.